Illusion
by manyissues101
Summary: -Final chapter up!- They're the great illusionists, changing their worlds as they see fit. The only problem is that once the illusion shatters you're left with nothing at all. --AU, multi-chaptered, with all canons included-
1. Chapter 1

The park was cold and gray in the January months. Nothing was the color it should have been, and half of what made this place beautiful was dead and shriveled. The air was choke-worthy, but if they could ignore the homeless men saturated in their own urine and feces, they could ignore a little smog.

Gray storm clouds tried to dampen their spirits where the rest of the scenery had failed, but the group marched on. No bad weather or appalling street scenes could put a damper on their good time, and that's really the only reason that they were still alive in the city.

But it wasn't all perfect—they couldn't pretend that it was. And they didn't—they just ignored it. That's all that could be counted on these days, the ability to avert your senses from what they didn't want to sense. To overlook the broken bodies on the streets, pretend that you didn't hear young teenagers making drug deals with shady men on block corners. You learned to grow numb to it all.

Nevertheless, they sure stood out. The sanest of them could only imagine how ridiculous they looked. Seven of them walking along, two half-holding hands in the middle of a heated argument that they managed to keep under volume control; one talking to a camera that didn't record sound; one cross dresser in loud, flashy clothing and the man all over her; and, of course, the woman at the front of the line, which was really more of a bunch if anything, loudly singing nursery rhymes with the spin de Maureen; and the one observing all of the madness, trying to get her other half to be a little quieter.

It was a fruitless attempt, of course. Joanne was surprised at how much bits of, sometimes one-sided, conversation she could hear over Maureen's 'nursery rhyming'.

"_Roger, he isn't here! Stop pulling me!"_

"_Zoom in on the lover's quarrel—"_

"_Can it Mark."_

And, _"Now how do you expect me to walk in these with you all over me, Honey?"_

"_How you walk in those in the first place is what baffles me."_

And, of course, "They sang 'Rock a bye baby' as they pushed the cradle out of the tree!" could be heard over all of this.

"Maureen! Stop singing about killing babies!"

"How else do I protest abortion?"

Joanne huffed. "Then do it a little quieter, please."

Illusion wrapped around them like a thick, warm blanket. Living in a world full of poverty and disease, that's really all they had. Not that it would last, or fool anyone else, but that's not what mattered. Right now they had today, they had this moment. Everything else, past and future, was illusion in a thick mist.

0----0

"Oh, I knew that I should have worn something rain friendly," was the young one's sigh as hands rung wet clothes into the bathtub. It was a young man, who would put on a pout if you called him such. Angel Dumott Schunard, in flat-chested, small muscled glory, and very unhappy about it.

"Stop worrying about it and come in here." Twas the deep, soft voice of Thomas Collins, roommate and lover to the drag queen.

"Fine, fine. Just give me a minute." Angel took one last look at the purple spot forming on her skin before pulling down her sleeves to hide its presence.

The apartment was full of toasty air spilling out of the vents, and the heater's low hum was almost unnoticed now that he'd lived there so long. The man of his dreams lay stretched out on the couch, his feet with socks that were about three sizes to big, hung off the side and Angel pinched them as she walked by.

"Something wrong?" he asked as Angel perched herself on his chest with the slightest worry in her eyes.

Angel wrapped her hands around his head and pulled it to hers. "No. Nothing at all."

They met in a feverish kiss, and neither tried to ignore the worry that clawed at their hearts because it had been come too hard to ignore. But they didn't speak of it—that would make it real.

0----0

Across town, another couple was perched on a bed, and their voices kept growing louder and louder until one finally exploded.

"Roger, why can't we take a simple walk in the park without you being paranoid about me running off to meet evil drug dealers?"

"Why do you think?" he snapped.

Mimi stood from the bed and crossed her arms. "Can't you even try to trust me?"

"Would you?" he retorted.

Mimi's brown eyes burned. "Roger Davis—I can't believe you!"

He didn't bat eye. "Good, so now we're on the same page."

Mimi gave an exasperated shriek and let a pillow loose at his head. She didn't say another word as she trucked, rather loudly, down the stairwell and into the apartment below.

Roger wasn't good at trusting people. It was one if his emo-boy flaws. Apologizing was also on the flaw list. So, as expected, he just picked up his guitar and ignored the angry noises from below his bedroom floor.

0----0

"Maureen, I'm trying to work."

The singing kept up, loud as ever.

"Maureen—"

"Pookie, I'm trying to work on something here. I'd really appreciate it if you kept it down."

Joanne resisted the temptation to chuck the table at her. "So am I. Something very important, so if you could just be a little quieter—"

Maureen simply stormed off, stomping around on the wooden floors. Joanne's eyebrows snapped together. Whatever Maureen's problem was, it had been affecting her all day. First she took a ten minute bathroom break on the way home, and she had been out of it ever since. Joanne glanced at the calendar that hung on the refrigerator with a cow magnet. Oh. Maureen was due for a feminine reminder this week. That's why she was in the drugstore bathroom for so long…

Joanne cracked open the bathroom door, where she knew Maureen had retreated to. The other woman quickly dropped something into the trash.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Maureen hurried to the door.

Joanne couldn't question that face. "Good."

0----0

He was the analytical one. The calculated one who saw things. And yet he didn't' want to see things, he didn't want to understand. Mark didn't want to see the hungry look in Mimi's eyes, or the way Angel's step was slowing, or the way that Maureen hadn't looked straight at him for a day or so now. Mark wouldn't step in front of the camera because he was afraid of what he'd seen in his own eyes. Maybe fear, maybe realization, and maybe a little resentment. That was the only way he'd ever know himself, if he let himself be featured through the lens. So he carefully stayed behind—he'd never let his emotions show.

0----0

Two of them were hiding secrets, another on the brink of deception, three who wanted to pretend that everything was okay, and one who didn't want accept any of it.

They're the great illusionists, changing their worlds as they see fit.

The only problem, as they were soon to learn, is that once the illusion shatters you're left with nothing at all.

0FIN0

This is my new baby.

My first attempt at anything that isn't a one-shot in a very, very long time. I love it.

If I owned RENT, do you honestly think that it would be closing?

I have changed the time-line just a bit so that it would fit together. Thus, it becomes AU. Not that I really care either way.

Please review and tell me what you think—I'll need all the criticism I can get for a multi-chaptered fic!


	2. Chapter 2

It was a bit surreal now. The world was transcending all around her and Maureen hoped that she could be apart from it all, just as she always had. It wasn't so, though, because now she had been thrown straight into the middle of it all, pushed into something equivalent to a heavy trafficked New York City street. Maureen wasn't used to existing in the same scope as the rest of the world, and now that she was—it was going to destroy her.

Reality and karma had teamed up against her, it seemed. She couldn't look at that…that thing buried in the trashcan. It couldn't really be there. She resisted the temptation to poke through and see. Making it exist wasn't in anyone's best interest.

Joanne was in the kitchen again. Maureen didn't want to think about the woman now. Shakily she opened the door, stepping out of the bathroom, which now doubled as her worst nightmare. "Pookie?"

Her head snapped around. "Yes, Maureen?"

The locked eyes for a minute or two. Maureen wanted to tell, she wanted Joanne to see. She wanted to say something, but her throat hurt so much…

"I'm going to go take a nap."

"Okay…"

She tried to ignore the fire burning inside the pit of her stomach and her throat as she turned on her heel for the bedroom, closing the door behind her. The tears came even before she hit the bed. Joanne's pillow was hugged close to her person—she could smell the scent of her lover. Another added bonus—said pillow worked especially well at muffling sobs.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was always able to cry her problems away. But she was crying now, and she assumed that she'd be crying for a long time to come. This problem wouldn't go away so easily.

0----0

"Baby, it was just a friendly visit."

"Are you sure?"

"You don't have to worry, Allison. I love you."

That was the easiest way to get her off of his back.

"You're so sweet."

"I'll be home a little later, but in time for dinner. Bye."

Benjamin turned his attention on the girl sitting next to him at the bar. She was giving him one of _those_ smiles.

"Nikki, I told you that this is the last time. I'm married."

"That never stopped you before," she cooed.

"I'm trying the route of a faithful husband now."

She fingered the collar of his shirt. "That's no fun," was her childlike pout.

"I love my wife."

"Not a lot, obviously."

Benny stood up, pulling her hands from him. "Forget it," he snapped.

"Benny, I—"

The rest of his drink was quickly downed, and the glass slammed onto the counter. His exit was quick and he walked to his Range Rover, parked on the side of the road in its customary spot. He had been bringing girls to this bar ever since he started fooling around. He had started fooling around long before he could remember, even before he married Allison. It was just something that he did. Not that he really wanted to hurt her; he was just a natural born player, to put a nice ring to it. He dialed his house phone.

"Alison, baby? I just called to let you know that there's been a slight change in plans. I'm heading home now."

"Really? Oh, Benny, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah. I love you."

He meant it, he really did. He only hoped that she never found a reason to doubt that.

0----0

It was amazing how Collins could still feel a shadow of the fury with which Angel had assaulted his lips. She was asleep on his chest now. Collins loved how peaceful his lover's sleep was, but if often worried him to the point where he kept a hand on Angel's chest to make sure that breath was still being drawn.

It was a baggy shirt of his that she wore—she claimed that the rain had chilled her a bit. He worried about this. He wouldn't have her getting sick—in her situation that could prove fatal.

Collins closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the couch. Maybe he could get a little nap in too. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and he situated his head next to hers. He wanted to freeze these moments in time, to abandon everything that he believed about living life in the moment, so that they could forever stay just like that. But they didn't have forever—something that he knew all too well.

0----0

It was with great restraint that Mimi didn't go down to the park to hunt for The Man. She wanted to get back at Roger…but she had to tell herself that it wasn't worth it. She wasn't going to set herself back out of spite. So Mimi sat down on her bed and pulled out an old book. It was a diary, with a wooden cover. On it were she and Angel's names. They'd both write entries in it and pass it off to the other. They could say anything in the diary, a way to share their secrets.

She opened it and flipped through its old, dusty pages. Mimi recognized Angel's neat cursive and her own almost illegible scrawl. Entries dated back long ago, before the days of true loves and disease. She flipped to the first clean sheet and picked up a pen from off of the nightstand. It was her fight with Roger and the way that she was resisting her temptations that she wrote about. She wrote about how she was scared of dying, and how she wondered how much time they all had left.

It was a big step, being able to write it all down. That made it real, made it tangible. The pen poised over the words. In a couple of scrapes across the paper, all of her words drowned in a puddle of blue ink. There were some things better left inside.

0FIN0

Note: I tried to post this on the 24th, but, as some of you may know, the website was being stupid and wouldn't let me. But I have chapter three ready, and a bit of chapter four, so you can expect them soon.

Did you guys know that you're all amazing? Seriously! I didn't expect all of the positive feedback that I got! I'm so thrilled you guys!

You all rock my world. Seriously. I LOVE YOU!

I've started on the next chapter, I hope to have it up soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Mark was not enjoying listening to Mimi stomp round downstairs or Roger strumming Musetta's Waltz. He wanted to buy Roger some sheet music, so maybe then he could learn at lest one other song—Musetta's Waltz was one of his most hated sounds. But the songwriter was a stubborn one.

The shrill ring of the phone was his other most loathed sound, and hearing the two at once made his head hurt.

'Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak'

There went that drunken answering machine message again. It's amazing how in sync they got it while under such a heavy influence, and that's the only reason why they left it as it was.

"Oh, Marky? It's your mother! Are you there? I hope you're not screening your calls again. Look, I just got off the phone with Roger's mother. We're worried about the two of you. So give your mother a call sometimes, baby, and tell Roger to do the same. I love you."

His mother and Roger's were chatting? What were they, twelve? In Mark's head, he began to tell his mother all that he had ever wanted to. Newsflash, Mom, I'm all grown up. I'm living on my own…without a job, without a girlfriend, with friends you'd never approve of. What kind of life do you think I have?

It was like she was living in a fantasy…

Just like the rest of them.

0----0

In another New York City apartment the phone was also ringing. It woke Angel up, and she reached out a hand to grope around the coffee table. Her hand slammed down on it, but she barely felt the pain through her groggy haze.

"Hello?"

"Angel? It's Mimi. Did I wake you up or something?"

Angel yawned. "Yeah. You did. Everything okay?"

"Oopps. Sorry."

"Yeah, I know. You had something to tell me, honey?"

"Ummm…right. Could you come over here?"

"Now?" Her word was warped by another yawn.

"Yeah."

Angel peeked through her eyelids out at the clock on the wall. "Give me a few minutes."

Mimi blew her a kiss through the phone. "I love you."

Angel yawned again. "Yeah, yeah."

0----0

Mimi blew her cigarette smoke upwards, it wafted up towards the matching smoky sky. She was perched on the balcony waiting for Angel to show up. There was something that they desperately needed to talk about.

Sure enough, here came Angel, dressed rather simply now. Short black wig, black tights, knee-length skirt, and a long sleeved ruffled shirt.

"Angel, hurry up!" She looked up at her friend on the balcony.

"I'm hurrying as fast as I can in these shoes, Mimi. What's the rush?"

"Just get in here." She slipped from the railing to floor and balanced her way inside. It didn't take long for Angel to make her way up the stairs, despite the shoes. She waltzed in without knocking, just like a best friend does.

"Okay, I'm here. What do you need to tell me?"

Mimi walked up and grabbed her hand. "I need a favor…or three."

Angel raised her eyebrows. "Three? You got me up and over here because you need three favors?"

"Basically. First favor—you get your man to talk to mine and convince him that I'm not on drugs."

"I don't know—"

"Angel!" she whined.

"The second favor?"

"Stay with me for a few days. It will help me keep off the drugs."

"Mimi—"

"One more!"

Angel sighed in exasperation. "What?"

"Go make me lunch."

Angel picked up a throw pillow and hurled it at her.

"I'm serious! Please, I'm afraid that I might do something I'll regret!"

Angel hung her head. "One, I'll talk to him. Two, done. Three…"

"Yes?" Mimi's expression grew hopeful.

"You're learning how to cook."

"Deal."

In all of the seriousness, they could still find humor. That was a good sign.

0----0

Why would Maureen go to bed so early? Joanne massaged her temples. Between that and the work in front of her…she was dying. She hoped that a hot shower could calm her frazzled nerves; it usually did.

She peeked into the bedroom. Maureen had been in bed for about an hour, she was most likely asleep. But what she assumed was wrong. Maureen's chest rose and fell, but with hysteria—not breath.

"Maureen? Are you alright?"

Her face turned in Joanne's pillow. She clenched her eyes, trying to hide the tears. It didn't quite work the way she wanted. Joanne slipped beside her, her gentle hand rubbing circles along Maureen's back. The sobbing woman didn't make a sound different then the ones she'd been making this whole time.

"Honeybear, all you okay?"

"I-I can't," she cried.

"Can't what?" Joanne soothed.

"Noooo," she moaned. She buried herself further into the pillow.

Joanne was at a loss. Usually when Maureen threw a crying fit, she made sure that Joanne could see, that she knew exactly what the problem was. But now she wouldn't say a comprehensible word.

"Maureen, I'm getting worried. What's going on?"

"I can't tell you," she wailed.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't!"

Joanne just rubbed her back. There was something very wrong with Maureen—and it wasn't just her being on her period.

0FIN0

Do you guys know how sorry I am that it's been forever? I'm so sorry! My family was stricken with the flu—twas horrible. And my computer has this habit of freezing randomly. It used to only do it on the internet, but now it does it all the time. So I'll be typing up a chapter, it freezes, and I have to start over again. You can see why that's annoying.

But in about forty days I get a new computer. WOOT!

Have I used a disclaimer yet? I've run out of witty ones…

If I owned RENT then I'd be on a subway car to Santa Fe, where I'd open up a restaurant. And then we'd yell "LA VIE BOHEME" on the tables, and for a whole 525,600 minutes RENT songs would play. And all of this would be in the news.

Alas, it is not so. tear


	4. Chapter 4

"Benny? I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Go ahead."

Allison twirled the spaghetti around with her fork. "It's kind of stupid. A little embarrassing to ask, really. It's just that my father mentioned some strange withdrawals in your bank account. And since you aren't really around that much, he had his suspicions about your fidelity, and I promised to bring it up. Stupid, huh?"

Benny swallowed—his oral cavity had suddenly been drained. "Does he really think I'd do that?"

Allison looked relieved. "He's just being paranoid. But I knew better. You're so sweet!" She smiled at him.

He mirrored the smile. "Not as sweet as you."

"Oh, and charming too," she giggled.

Her suspicions were soon dropped, to the great relief of Benny, as he flirted and charmed his way through dinner.

0----0

"Mmm…Angel?" He fumbled around his chest. His lover wasn't resting there anymore. Collins sat up, groggily, and rubbed his eyes. "Angeeeeeel?" he yawned. On unstable legs he stomped his way to the bathroom. Only through peripheral vision did he see himself in the mirror, and discern the source of the strange itching of his forehead.

There was something stuck to his brow. He squinted and his brain failed him as he tried to read the note in the mirror. He then mentally smacked himself before pulling the note off. It was stuck to him with a small, neatly rolled, square of tape. He chuckled, easily recognizing Angel's handwriting.

Honey, Mimi called—she says it's important. As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I have to go. I love you

_--Angel_

That calmed his beating heart. Angel was safe, everything was fine. He was a bit pessimistic now that he thought about it…

Collins stretched his long limbs. His stomach growled and churned. Out of the kitchen cabinet he produced a box of the best cereal in the world—Captain Crunch. So he sat on the couch, propped up his shanks, and pulled out a book and a cereal bowl. Today was going to be great…

…except that he couldn't get through half of the book. The main characters were sick and dying. There were too many parallels with his life—he just couldn't bear to read the ending.

0----0

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Where did I go wrong?"

Mark played the part of the confuzzled Jewish boy. "What do you mean?"

"With her."

"Mimi?"

Roger didn't speak, he just sat in the chair.

"Or April?"

He looked up at Mark. "Honestly? I don't know."

"Then how do you expect me to help?"

"I don't know," he sighed.

It was quiet for a while.

"You know, I can't help unless you talk to me," Mark commented.

Roger stayed silent.

"Fine." Mark knew that Roger wasn't going to talk.

He was right. Roger wasn't planning on saying another word. He wasn't big on talking to begin with—he wasn't going to start spurting his feelings. That too was on his list of Emo-boy flaws.

"So how long do you plan on being mad a Mimi?"

Roger didn't say anything. Mark just gave up now.

But Roger's mind was still churning. His relationship status was pathetic. Almost as pathetic as Mark's.

Roger took a look over at the albino, who seemed to be…cooing to his scarf?

Never mind. Not as pathetic as Mark.

Just pathetic.

0----0

"Maureen! Tell me what's going on!" Joanne was on the verge of tears.

"Later."

"No—now!"

"I just have to do something first."

"What?"

Maureen turned to face her, eyes still a bit puffy. "I'll tell you everything eventually."

"Maureen, I don't want to know everything eventually, I want to know everything now!"

She bowed her head, and shaking fingers swiped at misty eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Love you, Pookie." She blew a small kiss in Joanne's general direction, all without looking up, before walking out the door.

Maureen was taking power walking to a new level, tearing through the rungs of people on the streets. Her mind was focused on only one thing, one target. She ignored the strange glances, and the calls of people who happened to know her.

The distraught young woman ran into the building, made a quick dash up the stairs, and frantically pounded on the door of the loft. She knocked and yelled for Mark, who eventually was pounded in the face by Maureen's still pounding fist.

"Oh, Mark!" She threw herself at him, he who clutched his nose, from witch elegant curtains of crimson flowed.

"Maureen? What's your problem?" came a nasally voice. The bloody-nosed pumpkin head was clutching his honker. Maureen marched into the loft and plopped onto the couch. She mumbled something.

"What was that?"

She just sat there, pouting.

Mark was wrapping his nose in tissue paper. Tilting his head upwards toward the accidental skylight, he stumbled his way to the couch.

"What's going on?"

Maureen sighed. She looked over at him, through he couldn't tell, for, contrary to popular belief, Mark has no eyes in his exposed neck.

"I'm pregnant. And it's yours."

Mark's head snapped forward, expelling a shot of bloody…nose goo…from his snout. He hurriedly mopped it up, happy to be keeping busy. That way he didn't have to react to Maureen's news. But she was reacting via more tears then he'd ever seen one person shed. He wanted to reach out to her, he really did, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

0FIN0

Delicious, eh?

I almost made the stupidest mistake ever with this chapter. In the original draft, in the beginning when Benny and Allison are discussing those withdrawals he made, Allison mentioned a large one on Halloween. When she asked what it was, Benny said that he paid for the funeral of a friend's lover. DUH, ALI! Angel is alive still! smacks self with large objects

Own I do not. If I did, then I could meet Jesse L. Martin, he'd realize how much he loves me, and we'd have a little contact of our own.


	5. Chapter 5

There had always been a few things in life that Mark had known that he'd never be cut out for. One was a steady relationship. Another was getting a tan. A third was fatherhood.

And he sat there on the couch, skin burning with a flush, with his pregnant ex-girlfriend.

All he could do was clutch at the frayed ends of his scarf and thank whatever gods that there were that he hadn't left his camera on.

"So?" Maureen sniffed.

Mark was still quiet, eyes tracing the grainy patterns of the dark floorboards.

"Mark, you have to talk. Tell me what you're thinking," she urged.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "What do you want?"

She stalled. "What?"

"Maureen, what do you want from me?"

"I wanted a little bit of something! Mark—I'm carrying your child! I have a steady girlfriend and a whole new life now! What do you suggest that we do?"

"We?"

"Yes, we!" Maureen articulated, irritated.

"Since when has there ever been a 'we'? It's always been all about you."

Maureen had never heard such an outburst from Mark and it almost flattened her. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'd like you to get over it fast. We have a problem to discuss."

Mark shook his head. "No, Maureen, you have a problem. Go talk it over with Joanne—not me."

"You don't care what happens to your baby?"

Mark didn't look at her.

No emotion, he kept telling himself. No emotion. This wasn't real. None of it was.

Maureen stomped out of the loft, looking more hurt than before.

Mark let the familiar feeling of detached misapprehension wrap around him. He couldn't care—he just couldn't.

It would ruin it all.

0---0

"Collins? Darling, are you here?"

A hug greeted Angel at the door. Her lover had attacked her from behind with a giant embrace and a sloppy kiss. "How are you?"

"Eager, aren't we," she chuckled.

"I just love you so much."

"You're getting sappy," she smiled.

"I just don't like being away from you."

Angel turned to face him. "Then the next three days are going to be a hell for you."

Collins frowned. "Why?"

"I promised Meems that I'd stay with her for a few days."

"Why?"

"Because she asked me too. It's a long story. And I also told her that I'd do something else, or, more accurately, have you do something else."

His eyebrow rose. "Oh?"

"Remember that you love me okay?"

"Okay…."

"And that you'd do anyyything for me."

"Right…."

"And that—"

"Angel! Point please."

"ItoldMimithatyou'dgotalktoRogertogethimoffofherback," Angel blurted. She sighed. "I feel better now that that's off my chest."

"…what was that?"

Angel took a deep breath. "I told Mimi that you'd go talk to Roger to get him off of her back."

"Off her back?"

"About the drugs."

Collins seemed shocked. "Drugs? Is she back on drugs?"

"Not the point. The point, my love, is that Roger can't think that she is."

"So you want me to lie to one of my closest friends?"

"It doesn't have to be a lie—it's all in what you believe."

"But—"

"Thomas, please!" Angel meant business—this she signified by using the 't' word. "I'm going to stay with her to make sure that she isn't. So it won't be a lie."

"I'll see what I can do for her."

"Thank you! I love you so much!" She reached up and pecked his cheek.

"Now how about you see what you can do for me, eh?"

Angel chuckled. "I think we both already know exactly what I can do for you."

0---0

Mimi was pacing erratically, as if trying to engrave some strange code into the wood of the floor. Her tongue clicked in her mouth—an old impatient habit. The quicker that Angel got back, the faster that she could set her plan in motion. Too bad she'd been gone for a few hours now. Mimi had three days to convince Roger that she was off the drugs (whether or not this was true) and that she wasn't going to run out with Mr. So-and-so from wherever and declare her everlasting love for him. She was here to stay as long as Roger wanted her—and in three days time she had to convince him that that was forever.

She began to skip around the tiny, cluttered, comfy apartment. Granted, she didn't feel as sexy in a tee shirt and jeans as in her uniform, but a new routine for the Catscratch always put a rise in her mood and paycheck. She was really pulling out the stops for this one, until her downstairs neighbor had to come up, complaining about the paint chips falling from the ceiling. Now normally Mimi wouldn't care, nor would she stop, but her relationship with Benny couldn't even be a friendship anymore—there was no more getting out of eviction after the neighbors called the cops at two in the morning because she was being a 'menace to society'. 'You know who's a real menace to society?' she always wanted to ask. 'People who bang on their neighbors doors at two in the morning because they're too uptight to appreciate that some people have fun!'

But, of course, she'd never said that. Unless you count that one time, but the old lady was deaf so it didn't really matter. Which brings back the question that haunted Mimi for months—how did the lady hear her in the first place?

Before anymore thought could be put into this bizarre question, Mimi's new drug counselor bursts through the door, bring clothes, accessories, and, most importantly, savior through the form of Collins.

Mimi squealed and waltzed up to them. "He agreed?" she asked Angel. Angel nodded.

Mimi let out another squeak and attacked Collins' neck. "You agreed! Thank you so much!" She planted a kiss in the middle of his forehead. "You are the Patron Saint of my love life."

He smiled that smile that made you want to melt. "Glad to oblige."

0---0

Joanne knew. She knew exactly what was happening. The tears, the hysteria, the running off in the direction of Avenue B—she couldn't believe that it took so long. Maureen's infidelity disease struck again—and this time Cupid aimed his arrow at the pale ass of the only person that Joanne had thought that she could trust. She wouldn't make a mistake like that again.

Maureen had always been flirty with Mark—it bothered Joanne, but she didn't make a big deal about it because she knew that Mark would never return the affection, she knew that he understood. Or, really, thought is a better word then knew. Because he had finally returned the affection, and he obviously didn't understand—or didn't care enough to mask his jealousy.

Not that Maureen had actually told her about this…it was more of an educated guess.

Rash—maybe.

Hasty—sure.

Preemptive—why not?

Wrong—yeah right.

Maureen's blown kiss, her 'love you, Pookie', her tears—a ploy. A fabricated attempt, and an awfully good one, at making Joanne think that she was upset about the affair. But that was Maureen. She was a performer who manipulated herself and others around her to get what she wanted. She was under this impression, this fabrication that the whole world would bend over backwards to do what she wanted.

Well Joanne couldn't bend anymore. She was through with the back aches and the drama. She stood up straight, piling boxes on the bed—all with 'Ze stuff a Maureen' scrawled across—the boxes that she moved in with. Let her take it all back to Mark, back to their loft, back to their life where everything was perfect and no one stood up for themselves.

0----0

This sucked. Baaaaaaaaad. For this I apologize—but I wanted to get something to you fine people, who definitely do not suck.

But don't worry—the plots is starting come out! But I'm trying not to do them all at once—that's a lot of plot.

Alas, I might not be posting as much. See, I got my Interim Report Card and my grades are slipping badly. I have decided (to my unfortunate, heartbreaking, miserable surprise) that the reason for this is that I am always writing in class instead of paying attention.

So I've decided that I, Ali—Master Of All Things Having To Do With Hiding A Fanfiction Notebook In Class—must put away the notebook for now and pay attention. It makes my eyes moisten just thinking about it.

But don't fret—I won't let this die.

Love always,

Your suckish author,

—Ali


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure you're alright, Benjamin?" Allison fussed over his bedridden body.

"I'm fine, Ally. Now go have fun with your friends; I'll be okay for a couple of hours."

"Oh, Benny, you're a peach!" She planted a kiss to his forehead, eager for a day out.

Benny was the same. As soon as he was sure that Allison was out and about, he slipped out of bed, revealing that he was fully dressed. Lies and deceit were a part of his daily life now. For example, if Allison called when he was out, he'd later tell her that he spent the day on the bathroom floor.

He knew of a free clinic in the Lower East Side. Sure he wasn't quite welcome around these parts, but at least no one would tell Allison that he was there. He was especially grateful for this as he pulled his Range Rover to the curb.

There were posters about AIDS and Family Planning all over the windows and the light tinkle of a bell when he pushed open the door.

"How may I help you sir?" asked a kindly woman behind the desk. He looked around at the chaos in the waiting room, and decided that this must be the most patient woman in the world to keep such a stately manner.

"Yes, ma'am. You offer free testing?"

The door began to shut behind him and his words were being shut out from the rest of the world. Just as he wanted.

"I'd like to get tested for HIV, please."

0----0

"Hey, Roger, can I talk to you?"

Collins' question was simply for conversations sake, he was going to talk regardless. He stormed into the loft, having boomed his question while opening the door. Mark pointed at the rocker's door. He was giving off one of his 'void of emotion' vibes, but Collins didn't have time for that at the moment. He didn't bother knocking--he couldn't walk in and see anything he hadn't before, but instead barged in with as much of an air of seriousness as he could muster.

"I've got to talk to you, man."

Roger rolled his irritated eyes up from his guitar. "About what?"

"About Mimi. You were all over her about the drugs this morning."

"So?"

Collins sat on the foot of his bed. "I think that you're smothering her with a lack of trust."

Roger blinked. "Are you about to spurt your philosophical crap on me?"

"A bird will never learn to fly as long as it's kept safe in the nest."

"…I have no idea what that means."

"It means that as long as you keep Mimi in your sight like this she'll never have the chance to survive."

"Look, I know that you're trying to help, but I don't need it."

Collins stood up. "She's trying, Rog, she really is. Give her a little credit."

Collins walked out of the room and he would almost swear to it that he could hear a distraught voice utter, "I'm trying."

0----0

"I'm trying," Roger muttered. He wasn't sure if he wanted Collins to hear or not.

In all reality, he was trying. He was just terrified at the idea of a relationship, especially one with AIDS and a fondness for the needle. Considering his past love life, this was only to be expected, but his friend's didn't seem to see that. Maybe it was because he didn't want them to know his fears, that he wished that they would understand when they never could. They'd never understand that love was his biggest desire, that he was a hidden romantic. And his biggest fear was losing it—again.

He didn't want Mimi to die, which was quite the possibility. It was the curse of the disease—you never know when it will hit. A person with AIDS could die within a week, or live for many years. Your days were numbered but you never knew when to start counting down. Watching your friends drop like Elvis while you lived on, healthy and strong, ready to crawl into your own grave just to escape your seeming invincibility. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to watch them all die, that's why sometimes he'd 'forget' to take his AZT.

0----0

It wasn't quite the ideal situation. Maureen walking home alone in the dark, that is. Because we all know, of course, that cabs are for sissies. But as long as she kept her head, and pace, up, experience taught her that nine times out of ten she'd be fine.

The lights were on in their apartment and from the street she could see someone moving back and forth rather hastily. Maureen inhaled and exhaled a rather large gust of air. It would be good to tell Joanne, whose reaction would hopefully be nothing like Mark's, though hopefully it'd be calm. But calamity wasn't what she met when she entered the apartment.

"Joanne, what are you doing?"

The woman, with tears streaking down her face, stopped her packing of Maureen's things to look up, eyes afire with betrayal.

"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago. I can't do this anymore. I can't do us anymore."

"Pookie, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not stupid, Maureen! You're having an affair with Mark!"

"What?"

"Don't play naïve, it isn't becoming on you."

Maureen's heart skipped a beat. She must have known about the pregnancy.

"But I'm not having an affair! I got pregnant while we were still dating!"

Maureen didn't realize that Joanne hadn't known until the look of shock registered on her face.

"You're pregnant?"

Maureen's glance once again shifted to her shoes. "But I'm not cheating. It's Mark's--from when we were dating."

Joanne sank into her chair. Maureen, having just signed over part of her heart, slipped into Joanne's lap and wrapped her arms around her lover's neck and, into all hours of the night, they just cried.

0FIN0

Special, wonderful, amazingly beautiful thanks go out to Ginger Glinda for being an amazing beta (and making me feel competent) because I'm kind of slow. So thank you! Even though I must have already said that a good twenty times.

Chapter six fairly soon, but I haven't typed it yet.

My (all female) friends are over and wanted to say hello. This can be ignored:

Chaos (Jimmy): Hello Ali's fans! Just leaving a note for good reading! Um… enjoy? (eats tacos)

Pepito: Bonjour. I think I'm the Anti Christ. I love tacos.

Kitty: I has a cupcake…yes I do, oh yes, yes I do!


	7. Chapter 7

Joanne had read many a story with clichéd paragraphs about how someone wakes up happy and careless and then it all comes flooding back to them. That didn't happen—as much as she wished it had. Instead she fully recalled the misery of the night before she even opened her eyes.

Maureen was still straddling her, but now her chest fell up and down with fitful sleeping breaths, as opposed to fitful sobs. Joanne gently placed a hand on Maureen's stomach. She couldn't bear to think of part of Mark being inside of her. And Joanne was almost positive that Maureen would go back to Mark now. She'd grown up in a broken home, and she'd always hated her parents for it. It would be so easy to leave now—to get out before she got attached to the baby too.

But she looked at Maureen, still resting a hand on her stomach, and knew that she couldn't leave—not now. Besides, if worst came to worst, she could always be Aunt Joanne. That put a smile on her grim face. It had a nice, melodic ring to it.

Speaking of ringing, the phone sounded next to her (but Joanne had no means to get up and answer it as she had a pregnant woman astride her) and Maureen began to stir, giving Joanne the perfect means to grab the phone in case it rang again. Joanne kissed her forehead and gave her a smile. One day at a time and they'd be all right.

0--0

Collins, despite never knocking on the door of the loft or any of the rooms in it (save, occasionally, the bathroom—note the use of occasionally), did knock on the door of Mimi's apartment, lest he walk into a delicate situation.

He'd gone home after the 'talk' with Roger, bringing both Mimi and Angel along so that Angel could get her things. That took about ten minutes, and then they headed back for Mimi's place.

It was a Sunday now, and no one was up and/or answering their phones. He had gotten so accustomed to waking up early with Angel, ever the morning person, that sleeping in was getting harder. And that was quite the feat, because he was known for sleeping in until five in the afternoon, waking for a bowl of Captain Crunch, and falling asleep in the bowl.

"Good morning," came his lover's cheery voice as she opened the door. She hugged him. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed to come see you? Besides—I'm hungry and bored. I thought that maybe we could all go to the Life."

"Sounds like a plan—but Mimi's still asleep."

"Just like the rest of the world."

"Which reminds me—why are you here this early?"

"Lets just say that you've left your mark."

Angel smiled. "I'll wake up Mimi and you go get the boys."

"Call Mo for me?"

She pecked his lips. "Done." Angel skipped in, yelling Mimi's name.

It was exceedingly strange for Collins to be without Angel in the morning, but being in the loft was nostalgia welcome to him. Besides—he didn't envy the pounding that Mimi was going to be subjected to until she woke up.

0--0

"Angel, does Collins have an alarm clock to wake him up for work?"

The young drag queen shook her head. "No."

Mimi snorted. "Didn't think so." She sipped at her coffee mug. Angel's 'waking up' skills were kind of scary and made you want to wake up even faster to make them stop, which may have been the point.

"Are you calling Joanne's?" she asked when Angel picked up the phone. Angel nodded.

"Hello darling. Yes. No, I'm at Mimi's."

Mimi found it quite fun to try and imagine the other side of the conversation, but it was more fun to do when Angel called Collins.

"So are you two coming?" Angel continued asking. She seemed to have already explained that the group was meeting up. "About an hour, I think." Her face suddenly darkened and she fell silent for a minute. "You okay, honey? Are you sure? Alright, if you say so. Bye."

"Is something wrong?" Mimi asked.

Angel nodded. "I just don't know what. Yet."

0--0

Mark had to give Collins credit—he knew how to handle a grumpy Roger.

He himself hadn't been the hardest to awaken, but Roger was…difficult. As usual, you had to drag him through all holy hell to get him to even respond—or in this case, crack an eyelid. Collins was beating him with his pillow, quite an amusing situation it was.

"Get," BAM, "your," BAM, "ass," BAM, (this time in the rear for good effect) "up!"

Roger finally turned, intent on wrestling the pillow from the anarchist's grasp. He lunged at the same time as Collins and they ended up a heap on the floor, Roger still trying to grab the pillow that was still beating the air from his lungs.

Collins got up (in a sort of dancing leap way) and ran like hell for the kitchen, where he shoved the pillow in the freezer. Mark could only surmise that this was because he'd had it open already and it was convenient, but one could never tell with Collins. Anyway, as Roger hobbled in—his right leg tangled in bed sheets—the freezer door was quickly shut.

"Ah, Roger, you're up!" Collins boomed. Mark had to suppress the urge to snort into his coffee. "We're meeting every down at the Life. Would you like to come?"

Roger gave one of his morning death glares, one that Mark recognized from Collins days in the loft—it read, "Give me back the motherfucking pillow or feel my emo-boy wrath".

Collins didn't bat an eyelash—the boy was good. "Your glares don't work on me Rog, I'm wearing my Anti-Emo protective gear today."

Roger didn't say anything, but instead lingered in the doorframe for a while, finally turning away to get ready.

"One last thing, Rog!"

He turned his head. "What?"

Collins sniggered. "Try to put on some pants next time, man. That look doesn't work for you."

Roger, who quite frequently slept in the nude, stormed off into his room.

Mark stared, not sure whether to laugh until he cried or go out to find new friends. He decided to do both and, in between fits of laughter, wondered what his Yellow Pages ad would say.

0--0

Sorry, the delay was totally my fault…I'm laaaazy. And Final Fantasy XII had taken over my life!! Amazing game, I recommend it to all—it's got a rich, mature plot, a battle system that I want in my pants, and a sex god named Balthier. Yum.

Anywhorezzle, here we are. The next chapter will be…hopefully soon. I just hate typing the chapter after I finish writing them in school. I still have four pages of fanfiction to type up…the bane of my existence. That and silverware.

Reviews make the chapters come faster, and they make me happier when I write them. And when I'm happy I crank out amazing M/R/C friendship, because originally there was nothing but Collins lightly beating Roger with a pillow. It evolved…to say the least…


	8. Chapter 8

Angel hooked arms with her lover who had come downstairs in a fit of booming laughter. When Angel asked what was so funny and why Roger wasn't down yet, he laughed harder, so she left it alone--after giving Mimi a look.

The look was because of her reaction to Angel's question about Roger. Mimi sank onto the stairwell and casually picked off fingernail polish, as if she hadn't heard a thing. Angel knew better, and she nudged Mimi up with a heel. Collins was too absorbed in his laughter to notice a thing, and Mark was still standing in the doorway of the Loft telling Roger to hurry up. They were closest to the Life Cafe, yet they always managed to get there last--unless Maureen was coming on her own. She was the notorious late one.

"Watches? Who needs one of those? Certainly not me...oh--look it's glittery!"

She happened to have an addiction to glitter. Not ADD or anything...just...GDD. Glitter Deficit Disorder.

These were the things that crossed Angel's mind when she was bored and mindlessly tapping a beat on the stairwell with the hand that wasn't currently wrapped up in another's. Someone said something, but she wasn't paying half enough attention to catch (or care about) what it was until Collins tugged at her hand.

"Welcome back the world, Angel," he chucked. "We can leave--unless you'd like to keep bonding with the railing?"

She flashed a smile, falling quickly back into their game of flirty banter. "That sounds like fun--but I'd much rather bond with you."

They walked forward, and she pretended that her head wasn't spinning madly. Just keep stepping--one foot in front of the other. With her arm twined with Collins' it was easy to keep her balance--or it would be if she could gain it.

It had been happening a lot lately, when colors swirled and noises blurred together. She could write it off as nothing, as fast as it came. Angel knew better, but she was dead set on spending forever with Collins--and a little dizziness wasn't going to take that away.

0--0

It was quite normal, actually, for Roger to be walking without Mimi trailing close to him; that's not what got him. What got him was that she was trailing close to Mark, asking about his documentary and all kinds of other things that she'd never given a second thought to before. It was done completely on purpose, launching Mark into a long-winded speech and giving her an excuse not to walk by herself in silence. Angel was leaning into Collins the slightest bit and staying uncharacteristically silent, so engaging in conversation with her wasn't plausible. That left poor Mark, who really didn't mind at all, but was a little flustered at the unexpected attention.

"Actually, you aren't supposed to touch that..."

His words fell on deaf ears, as happened often when one talked to Mimi. She didn't seem to be causing too much harm to the camera though, because Mark hadn't gone into his 'Abort! You're Damaging My Child' stance yet. Roger almost wished that he would--laughter was much needed about now.

It was a rather gray morning, with an absence of the sun that was far from uncommon on autumn days. Few people were out and about, as most had taken refuge inside of a building where (in the best case scenarios) there was at least a miniscule amount of heat.

The clank of heels on the sidewalk and Mimi's chattering were the only sounds that were worth listening to this early in the morning. Everything else was crude and painful to sensitive early ears. The empty murmur of the Life Cafe wasn't bad either--something was almost chilling in the way that sound bounced from all around the room yet it didn't travel far in the musty air.

They grabbed a table in the back and slipped into chairs, Angel and Mimi on one side, and the men on the other. Two seats were left for their tardy friends, and they sat there--refusing to order until the others got to the table. It was a sort of tradition, if tradition could be something that had only been going on for a few months and had been broken more times then was proper.

0--0

They walked in complete silence. Maureen couldn't recall a time when she'd been so quiet. But it had been this way since she'd awoken. Besides a few pleasantries, Joanne hadn't said much but to ask her if she was up for meeting the group. Maureen wasn't quite sure how she'd face Mark (she was confident that he hadn't put any thought into it himself) but otherwise decided that a snap back to the mundane was much needed.

She had never realized how long the walk was until she walked in silence. Not just silence of the outside world, but silence inside of her as well. She didn't hum, didn't perform in her head, nor did she race through scenarios in her mind. She just walked, concentrating on each simple step like it was her niche. She wasn't sure what Joanne was doing, there was so little you could tell from just an iron grip on one's hand, but she was sure about what she wasn't doing--looking at her.

Even when they entered the restaurant, it seemed quieter than usual. All in their heads, most likely, but strange all the same. Friends were spotted in the back at a table, the lack of food not quite surprising. Steps to the table were counted, like Maureen's life was dependent on the quality and number of her footsteps, and small words were exchanged. She dropped into an empty seat next to Angel, while Joanne pulled her chair to the foot of the table, perpendicular to Maureen.

They ordered, and it was still quiet, even though there was a slight commotion going on at the table. None of them were up to it, but Angel, bless her, decided that familiarity would do them all good. She engaged Mimi and Roger in the same conversation and gave Mark a look that said that he'd better start talking to Maureen. She was a miracle worker, that one, for soon they were all absorbed in their conversations with ones who they weren't on good terms with, and nostalgia was flooding the room. Sounds were still stale to ears, but that was easier to ignore it now that they were engaged.

"Have you given it any thought yet, Mark?" Maureen had to know. She trusted that no one but Joanne would hear and understand what she asked.

"Given what any thought?"

Typical.

"Don't play that with me," Maureen snapped.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Maureen slammed down her fork on the table, scattering bits of egg, and stood up. "Stop it!" she shrieked. "Stop pretending like there's nothing wrong and giving me that look! Stop it!"

All eyes were on her now, but she couldn't care less. Mark, however, could. He turned his gaze to his own food. "You're making a scene."

"I don't care! I'm make a scene if I damn well want to make a scene!" She pushed the chair back from the table and it wobbled unsteadily before hitting the floor. Joanne pulled at her, but Maureen escaped her grasp. "I'll tell you what--you start filming and I'll give you the scene of a lifetime! I'm pregnant! Hear that? No--you can't ignore me this time. I'm pregnant Mark, and it's yours, and I'll make a scene if I so feel like it!" She was screaming now, and everything else was utterly still. Maureen gave a shriek and stormed towards the door.

Mark was quiet, and soon looked back down at his food, cutting it slowly. He needed control.

0--0

He saw her run out in a fury--she was pretty hard to miss. But Benny wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do about it. A few months ago and the answer was quite evident--he'd charm her out of her tears. But now...could he do it?

Who was he kidding--he wasn't even welcome around these parts, and Maureen was the most unforgiving. Besides, her new woman was soon at her side, as was the drag queen that Collins had picked up off of some street corner. Benny felt a twinge of jealousy--he should have been there. Not those newcomers--but just him. Collins, if he felt like it, would assist in cheering Maureen from her fits, but the task usually fell to Benny.

But he had to remember that all of that was in the past now. Hell, everything was in the past--now that there was no more future.

0--0

I want to dedicate this to my amazing beta, Ginger Glinda. Without her this would be sooooo full of mistakes because sometimes I sacrafice grammer for wording. Ew.

I loves her and you readers for so much! So please review so I'll love you more!


	9. Chapter 9

Angel, Collins, and Joanne had followed Maureen outside. She had stormed a ways down the sidewalk, her curly head in her hands, but only until the fit began. It was obvious that her tantrum hadn't subsided; her face was red, and she swung her arms wildly.

Joanne was the first to reach her, but Collins was the first to speak.

"Mo?" he called, voice unsure.

Maureen was shaking Joanne off, proclaiming that she was fine now. "I'm better now, really. I just needed to get it off of my chest." She drew deep breaths and exhaled them with a puff.

"Do you need to go home?" Joanne's concern for her obviously hadn't dwindled because of Maureen's insistences.

"Actually, I'd like to stay and enjoy my meal. Screw Mark--I don't need him or his input," Maureen declared, proudly.

Joanne patted her shoulder affectionately. "That's right."

Collins beamed at her. "'Atta girl. Come on, our food's getting cold."

Maureen laughed, making some sort of comment about Collins and his stomach. He teased her right back, something about how soon hers would be bigger than his. Joanne, in the middle, just grinned.

That's when Angel fainted. She'd been leaning against the brick, trying to regain her bearings, when suddenly it all became too much for her, and she sank toward the pavement. She was barely aware of her surroundings, but she was more than certain that Collins had yelled her name.

0--0

His hands were bigger than hers, and a few blisters were present from the constant writing that his job required. They smelled of chalk and sweet grass on a sunny day. They were dark brown with a few light scars, and a faded palm; the lifelines were present and stretching, and his nails were bitten short, a bad habit that she'd been trying to wean him out of. They were gentle; not like a doctor, whose hands have the power to heal, but gentle in the way that he used them to pass around knowledge, and the way that they made her more aware of herself than ever before.

Angel loved his hands.

She knew his touch before anyone's, and now she felt his grip tight on her shoulders. She was woozy, and not even sure if she was truly awake, but she knew those hands. They soothed her, and told her things in a single touch that would be too painful to say aloud.

Don't die.

It was as simple as that. Don't die. Stay with me, say something, open your eyes, give me a sign, hold on a little longer. Don't die.

Her body was weak, and her hands were shaking violently, but she managed to lay one against his chest. Even though she couldn't see him, her hands had memorized every muscle of his body long ago. She pressed it against him, quite weakly, but it had the same effect.

I'll try.

0--0

Mimi had come out to check on them (or maybe to get away from Roger, but who really knows) and was quite shocked to find Angel sprawled across the pavement with Collins kneeling over her. Maureen's fist was pressed into her mouth, and Joanne squeezed her shoulders, almost to retain her balance.

Mimi shrieked Angel's name loud enough for Mark and Roger to hear and come running. Collins had already heaved her into his arms and was telling them that he'd take her to the hospital and that they should stay here. He was worried that if Angel was able to see them all rushing to the hospital then she'd panic, which would worsen her condition. Joanne called him a taxi, because it would be faster than the subway, and handed the driver the fare. Collins gently sat Angel in the backseat and stuffed himself in beside her. Mimi, the best friend, hopped into the other side. Collins told the driver to hurry, and so soon they were nothing but the squeal of tires.

Joanne went back inside to pay for the meal, leaving Maureen, Roger, and Mark outside. No one spoke, but Maureen was trying to hide little cries. Everything in their perfectly spun world was falling apart, and all of the shards were lost to the ever-changing wind.

0--0

"Allison, I'm home!" He spotted her car, and there was no use pretending that he'd been there the whole time.

"Benjamin! Where have you been? When I left you were sick in bed!" Allison came out of the kitchen, brandishing a spatula. Benny cringed.

"I went out to the drugstore, but they didn't have what I needed. I am feeling a little better though."

Allison looked suspicious for a minute, but seemed happy enough with his explanation, and didn't press.

"Well, I made you lasagna. I hope you like, because it took me quite a few tries to cook."

This time Benny cringed inwardly. Allison's cooking was...about as good as Roger's social skills. Having spent years sharing an apartment with the rocker, and therefore knowing all of his social faux pas, made the comparison meant something.

"I'm sure that it just kept getting better. Give me a big plate full, baby!"

Of course, he wasn't going to let her know any of that. Their relationship survived on its little secrets. She didn't tell just how much money she'd spent on that new dress, and he didn't tell her just how much money he hadn't been able to get from his tenants. She kept her feelings about his lack of hair to herself, and he kept his feelings about the Latina stripper from Avenue B to himself.

The only problem now was that he had one big secret to hide, and nothing she did could ever balance it out.

0FIN0

What about the POVs you ask?

Bah. Jesse leaving Law & Order has me a bad, tearful mood.

But, in better news, I'm seeing RENT on FRIDAY! THAT'S TWO FLIPPIN DAYS!!

Hysteria over.

You should all thank Ginger Glinda, because without her this would make no sense and look like crap. Maureen holding her head in her hands while she's shaking her arms? What was I thinking...?


	10. Chapter 10

"What's going on

"What's going on?"

Mark, Roger, Maureen, and Joanne were huddled around the loft's small phone, waiting for a reply to soothe their worries.

Mimi took a deep breath, "I'm not sure…I don't think it's good…"

The waiting group hung their heads, each gripping a different part of the phone. "And how's Collins?" Maureen asked. She was trying to pretend that Mark wasn't sitting so close to her.

"He's…no better than can be expected…but he hasn't said anything in a while. They won't let him in the room, so I said that I was Angel's sister."

"They believed you?" Mark asked.

"Why not? It's all the same to them…anyway, I'd better go. I'll call you guys later, okay?"

There was a murmur of goodbyes and each party put down the phone. Maureen sighed and turned away, feeling Roger's eyes on her. There hadn't been enough time for anyone to react to her news, but Roger definitely hadn't forgotten. He'd been staring at her, namely her stomach, for the past half hour. Maureen was quite tired of it.

"Yes, Roger, there is a child inside of there. It's more of a fetus now, but still, it's there. Are done imagining now, or would you like a play-by-play on how it got there?" Her replies were snappy, haughty, as she was getting tired and cranky. Joanne soothed her tensed shoulders, whispering for Maureen to calm down. Under normal circumstances that would just push Maureen further into an argument, but now she just sank into the chair, massaging her temples.

It had been a whirlwind of a morning. Lets see…a pregnancy confession and an AIDS-induced faint, not to mention all of get the couple drama in-between. Couldn't people just wear condoms, take medicine, and along? Maybe if they could then Maureen would be eating her extra runny eggs right now, which she'd begun to crave.

"What are you doing?" Roger spoke again, wondering aloud why Maureen was heading towards the makeshift kitchenette.

"Making eggs," she replied cheerily, all of her earlier tension relieved.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" she scoffed. Roger could be so empty-headed.

"Because eggs help control mood swings."

"Congrats, you get an F in Pregnancy 101," she said, clapping her hands together. It was a little surprising that she was throwing words like pregnancy around so casually. For Mark it was almost too much to take and he excused himself to his bedroom.

Maureen flipped the eggs, humming happily as Joanne, awkward next to Roger on the couch, watched her carefully. Roger would rather perform acupuncture on himself than watch Maureen cook, and so he picked up his guitar and headed into his own room.

"Maureen?"

She turned, egg poised for flippage, and cocked her head. "Pookie?"

"Are you going to stay with Mark?"

It was the silent, unspoken question of death. Until now. Now it was the noisy, spoken question of death.

"No."

Neither said anything; Maureen just continued flipping her egg, as Joanne calmed her nerves and the anticipated tears that she'd almost cried.

0--0

"I'm writing one great song…one great song…one shitty song!" Roger slammed his guitar on the bed (so old that it was almost as hard as the floor, which is why he spent so much time at Mimi's) with an exasperated UMMPH! Mumbling about his girlfriend got him nothing but calmer, and he proceeded to do so. Nothing was audible, and he had no idea what he was saying (he realized this after hearing what sounded like 'fishtaco' thrown in there somewhere) but it still made him feel better.

Outside he could hear Maureen's inevitable drop of an egg on the floor, its oozing yolk running between the wooden planks, and her cursing afterwards. Poor kid was going to grow up with a potty mouth that you'd never believe.

Roger briefly wondered about Angel, in some nasty hospital. They all knew the drill, and so none were too worried (save Collins maybe), even though it seemed like a big deal. But it happened to all of them (the infected ones, at least) and nothing ever happened. People died of AIDS all the time on the streets, but not people like them, not people like Angel. Angel, who was good, and sweet, and kind, and made him feel like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar at times. Angel wasn't the kind of person who died of AIDS.

He was.

0--0

"We should play a game," Mimi suggested, nonchalantly. Her hair curled around her finger at the sweep of her wrist. "Like twenty questions or something like that. Except not twenty questions, because I'm horrible at that game."

Collins stared at her, wondering how she could be this calm.

"There's always one of those A-Z games, but for some reason I always forget 'l'…" her voice trailed off in a confused manner.

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for games?"

"Upset and angst-filled, just the mood for games," Mimi replied.

"Fine. What game do you want to play?"

"Ummm…hangman! Got a pen?"

Collins shook his head and she began digging in the seat until she pulled on an old, almost dead, cap less pen. When her scrounge for paper proved fruitless, Mimi began doodling the noose contraption up her arm. That got a chuckle out of Collins, especially when she messed up, scribbled over it, and had to redraw it higher up.

They actually laughed, something he would have thought impossible. But there was still that nagging at the back of his mind, telling him that Angel was alone in a bed, without him beside her for the first time in ages.

0FIN0

This took so long because eleven puppies are hard to care for and tweenagers are annoying. They'd be the only things to survive a nuke war, you know.

Now for my angry reprimand.

Are we still here? I feel like everyone got bored of this thing since no one reviews, except for my beta (who gets a nice big e-hug)! She's already read this, and yet she still reviews! Please, people, don't let me think that she's the only one reading or I might not post any more at all.

Sorry if I sound annoying and demanding, but I'm really proud of this and I don't want it to die.


	11. Chapter 11

"Ugh…my lungs…" Angel coughed, thrusting forward

"Ugh…my lungs…" Angel coughed, thrusting forward.

"You okay, chica?"

Angel cracked open an eye to see Mimi perched at the end of the bed.

"I've been better, darling. What happened anyway?"

"You passed out," she replied. "Outside the Life."

Angel groaned. "Nice way to make a scene, huh? Is anyone else here?"

By asking if anyone else was there, Angel was really asking after Collins.

"He's here, but they won't let him in."

"Why?"

"Because the two of you aren't related, not in their homophobic book anyway."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I'm your sister, silly!" Mimi leaned up to kiss Angel's forehead. "I'm your wonderful, beautiful sister whom you love ever so much."

Angel grinned. "Of course, Mimi."

"In fact, you love your little sister _so much_ that you're willing to let her rummage through your things for an outfit to wear tomorrow night."

Angel furrowed her brow. "Why do you need an outfit?"

"I've got a date, silly!" Mimi chirped.

"A date? I thought you were fighting with Roger…I haven't been out that long, have I?"

"Of course not, Ang! Roger and I are still fighting; or, as much as you can fight silently."

"Then who is your date with?" Angel massaged her temples. She was suffering from far too great a headache to deal with this today.

"The cute nurse in the next room," Mimi giggled. "He's taking me dancing, and you have better shoes."

"Yeah, yeah, take whatever you want. I probably won't be needing it for a while."

"Come on, Angel, be optimistic! Besides, you're fine, and you'll be out anytime now. And you're right, you won't be needing it for a while because you've already got yourself a man and don't have to woo him with shoes."

"You've got a man too."

"I don't hear you," Mimi chimed in a singsong voice. "But speaking of your man, what are we going to do about that? You have to be related, and I don't think we can pull brothers off."

Angel tapped her nails against one of the cords, her mind calculating. "He could be my brother-in-law!"

Mimi looked confused. "But you don't have any siblings."

The bedded one waited for her dear friend to catch up.

"Oh! That's a great idea, Angel! I'll be right back, I have to go get engaged!" Mimi skipped out of the room, happier then Angel had seen her the past few days.

The room was small, gray, and smelly. Angel wrinkled her nose; she'd have to request that someone bring air freshener, and, if at all possible, a can of paint. Colors would help her get better quicker, that she was sure.

Getting better (at any pace) was really all that mattered now, though. She'd known that this relapse in health was long coming, and though it had finally arrived, Angel couldn't accept it. She was going to get up and walk out of this hospital, not rot away in a lumpy bed with stringy, starched sheets.

0--0

"All clean! You're a lifesaver, Pookie." Maureen pecked Joanne's cheek as she threw away an egg-soaked paper towel.

"All I did was clean up an egg…"

"And I couldn't have done it without you. What do you say we head home? Mark and Roger will call us if they hear anything. Won't you?"

A chorus of "yeah" and "sure thing" proved that both boys (both still in their rooms) had been listening to their conversation.

"See? Lets go!" Maureen grabbed her hand and dragged Joanne out of the apartment before she could protest.

"What's with the sudden rush home?" Joanne asked, walking alongside Maureen, who was quite peppy.

"I like it there. Besides, we have to baby proof it!"

Baby proof? The baby was months away, and Joanne hadn't even known for sure if they were keeping it. She expressed those thoughts.

"Of course we're keeping it! And the sooner we baby proof the apartment, the sooner we learn to work around it." Maureen kept dragging Joanne along.

"Umm…okay…"

Maureen hummed as she worked at child proofing their residence. A five-minute stop at the store had provided them with all the equipment that they needed.

"So once it's born you can adopt it. Mark will always be the father, of course, but you can be Mommy Joanne."

"Then what are you?"

"Mommy Maureen! Mark will be Daddy, and we'll have lots of aunts and uncles…"

"You're taking this well now."

Maureen beamed at her. "That's because I've seen the light. Now I know what we're going to do. No more crying, no more moping…we have to get out and raise this baby! You with me?"

Joanne was a little taken aback. "Well, of course."

"Goodie. Now where do you suppose this goes?"

Joanne moved to help Maureen put the cabinet locks on. This was going to be a long nine months…

0--0

"Collins! Collins, Collins, Collins!" Mimi came racing around the corner, gripping his arms for support as she spun to a stop. "We're engaged."

Whatever she meant, Mimi seemed quite happy about it.

"Uh…what?"

"What do you mean 'what'? We're engaged silly!" She gave him a nice big wink.

"…Right…"

Mimi yanked him down by the collar. "If we're engaged then you're related to Angel. Got it?"

_Oh_…

"How's your brother?"

Mimi smiled. "He's awake now, and talking too! He wanted to see you, if it's all right."

"I'd love to see him too."

Mimi slipped a ring from her finger onto Collins. "For show," she whispered. She twined their fingers and walked beside him into Angel's room. They tried to walk into Angel's room, that is, because a nurse stopped them before they could make their entrance.

"Where are the two of you going?" She was an elderly lady, and short, and had to look at them over her glasses.

"To visit my fiancée's brother. Why, is there something wrong with that?"

"Of course not. Proceed." Her look was suspicious, but she let them pass. As soon as they got into the room Collins embraced Angel.

"You worried me," he teased accusingly. "Where do you get off fainting without telling me?"

"I'm sorry. I'll warn you next time I decide to bash my brains out on the pavement."

There was a low chuckle and the sound of a kiss, which was Mimi's cue to leave. "I'll see you two later. Right now I've got an outfit to pick out."

"Wait, Mimi! Do you have a key?"

"Do I look like I need a key?" she smirked and sauntered out of the room. Collins looked at Angel suspiciously.

"Do I want to know?"

"No, honey, you really don't."

0--0

"Allison?"

No answer.

"Ali?"

Silence.

Benny stole out of bed, careful not to stub his toe against the nightstand. The room was dark and his careful footsteps seemed to incriminate him. But this time he wasn't sneaking out to go see another woman, this time he was sneaking out for a drink.

The Range Rover was loud on the best of days, but at 4:00 AM it seemed to roar with such an intensity as to wake the whole city. Benny shushed it, as if that would do anything, and drove down the street. The only bars open this time of night were sleazy, but Benny wasn't interested in anything but getting wicked drunk.

His stamina was tested when, on his eighth shot of straight vodka, a dainty hand was placed on his shoulder. It belonged to a cute little Asian girl, who asked if he wanted company. Benny beamed and excitedly patted the stool next to him.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Benny," he slurred.

"Benny? Short for Benjamin, perhaps?" she purred. Benny was powerless to do anything but nod.

"I'm married."

"That's fine." She ran a manicured finger up and down his arm. "I don't want anything serious."

"And I have AIDS," he confided, his judgment seriously impaired by this point.

"Oh…well, if that's the case, then I think I see my boyfriend calling. Goodnight Benjamin."

She was quick to hurry off to the next drunken man.

"Well…that sucked." He took another shot.

0FIN0

You should all listen to Anna Nalick music, because it got me out of a writing rut. I recommend it so much that I'll send it to you if you want. I'm serious—I've been sitting in my room playing the songs over and over all day.

I've been spending too much time writing for video games with sexy, sophisticated pirates. I gave Mimi some sophisticated lines that didn't fit at all. That's what happens when you're juggling a billion fandoms, fanfics, and videos at once!

Kisses to those who deserve it, you know who you all are.

I hope to get the next chapter up soon. VBS ends tonight, and my puppies are a little less needy now. If anyone wants one…well, I can't exactly mail them so nevermind. XD


	12. Chapter 12

"Mimi's still at the hospital

"Mimi's still at the hospital?"

"How would I know? I'm not her personal assistant, Mark."

He shrugged. "I just thought you might have some idea."

Roger looked up from the over-played guitar strings. "Well, I don't."

"Have you taken your AZT today?"

"Have you reminded me more than twice?"

Mark sighed and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "I'm going down to the hospital to see how they're doing. You wanna come?"

"To see how 'they're' doing?"

"Well, yeah. Angel and Collins. How do you think he's taking it?"

Roger began to pick at the strings again. "I think he's a big boy, Mark." His frustrated plucking radiated the hostility present in his voice. Roger obviously wasn't in the mood for small talk or any talk, for that matter. So Mark swallowed everything that he was going to say and instead whispered his goodbye and promised to return later.

He wasn't sure if the hospital had bicycle parking or not, though why they wouldn't he couldn't fathom, having never spent much time there. Mark was never one for hospitals, what with death seeping its scent into the air he needed to live. He'd never been one for goodbyes, either, because goodbyes meant exposing intimate feelings because you might never get another chance to tell them. He'd much rather be out watching, observing, than talking and worrying. Death was fascinating, that he wouldn't dispute, in the way that one minute you were around and the next lost. How could one…not be?

Mark hooked his camera, his key to survival, onto his bike. He put one foot on a pedal and steadied himself on the seat. But before he began riding off, Mark stopped. He got off the bike, unhooked the camera, and walked back up the steps towards the loft. He fished the key out of his pocket and left the camera sitting on the counter. It was quiet, Roger had stopped his insistent 'playing', and as Mark walked out, he couldn't help but feel that everything had just changed.

0--0

Whenever Collins thought about hospitals, he thought about the machine beside the bed beeping. He thought about hearing its rhythm when his grandmother was passing, and how he wondered why they were making her listen to such an annoying sound. Only later, when he was older, wiser, and a little less naïve, did he realize that people in the hospital wanted to hear the beeping. They wanted the repetitive rhythm to keep them awake, to keep them sane. Because if the beeping was gone then so were you, just like that.

In Angel's room, there was no beeping machine.

Collins wondered how she knew that she was alive.

"So serious," she whispered, tapping his hand with her nail. "Don't think too much on my behalf. Grief isn't your strong suit."

"Grief? Why would I be grieving?"

Angel gave him a knowing look. It was the kind where she told him that she knew exactly what he was thinking, even if she really didn't. But he never knew if she did or not, so it kept him on his toes.

"I'm dying, honey."

There it was. The unspoken words, warm in execution, but cold in meaning.

"I know."

He blinked. She was right; grief wasn't one of his many talents. Suck it up and shut it up—it was one of his mantras. But still…he had to grieve…didn't he? What kind of person would he be if he weren't upset for the rest of his life? The problem happened to be that he was exactly that kind of person.

"You're looking awfully worried there, professor. Anything I can do?"

"I love you, Angel."

Without hesitation, or a second of comprehension, her automatic reply was, "I love you too, Thomas."

He pecked her forehead and rested his cheek against hers. "I don't know if I can ever be this happy again."

"No," Angel disagreed, "you don't know if you can bring yourself to be anything but happy. I love you, but you're horrible at being sad. And it's a good thing—I don't want anyone to cry when they think about me."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little."

He smiled, began to chuckle, and soon began an all out laughing fit. Angel wasn't sure what was so funny, or if she even wanted to know. After all, curiosity did kill the cat. But Angel had never liked cats, too much of an attitude, and she knew from experience that killing animals didn't always mean doing the wrong thing.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, still chuckling, a wide grin threatening to split his face. "I promise you that I'll move on. I promise you that when I think of you, if I do cry, then I'll try to laugh instead."

"Well don't laugh too hard," she smiles. "Or you'll start to cry again."

His laughing didn't stop, and then she joined in, until neither of them knew if they were laughing, crying, or just going crazy.

0--0

Roger hadn't dreamed in a long, long time. When he was a child his dreams were full of superheroes, and adventures, and treasures. Once there was even a giant dog, all nightmares aside. But he hadn't had a real dream, one where he could escape all that was really going on and just be in a land of make-believe, since April.

Miss Erickson had really done it in for him. If she was going to kill herself, couldn't she have had the decency to do it in the park, or in an alley? Did she really have to do it _in their bathtub_? He didn't bathe until they bought a new tub, which took quite a while, and he'd had quite the smell to prove it.

He was dreaming now. Not a peaceful dream, or a nightmare. It was more like an ever-continuing stretch of the imagination. An illusion. He was running. Running, and running, and running, but nothing was moving except for his legs. All around him was hazy, but still. He couldn't speak, or hear, or feel. All he could do was see and run.

The floor began to change. It had never been much of a floor to begin with, more a blank bit of nothing. But now it was tile, white and blue, with cracks and dirt and brown around the edges. A light shone above him now, dim. Its covering needed a serious scrubbing, and maybe then the light would shine with its real strength. The mirror wasn't one, it was two pieces to cover the medicine cabinet, with one piece that slid back behind the other. There was a weird brown spot on it that had always been there and always would be, and the sink below was spotted with marks from where a cigarette had been laid there and left.

It was their bathroom, or half of it, but different. Roger had broken that mirror when he saw April. If it was still intact then…

The bathtub was in front of him with the curtains drawn shut.

He couldn't speak, or hear, or feel. All he could do was see and run.

He couldn't stop himself, or warn himself. He couldn't even scream when April lay there before him, her blood gleaming in the dim light. And he couldn't even walk away when she got up, eyes dull and lifeless, and turned into Mimi.

0FIN0

It's official. The next chapter is officially the last. It kind of skips a bit, so don't be thrown off.

But, I already have the next chapter typed up, so it should be up soon.

On one final note, everyone should send flowers to my beta, who is mentioned in several chapters, so I'd hope you know her name by now, because she doesn't get enough credit. But I love her, and so should you!

And, I saw _tick…tick…BOOM! _yesterday. It was in-freakin-credible!


	13. Chapter 13

The air is hollow, and bone chilling, and just cold enough to remind you why you hate the cold and all of its victims

The air is hollow, and bone chilling, and just cold enough to remind you why you hate the cold and all of its victims. Disease is real, not an illusion, as is death, and loss, and hatred. You could pretend that none of it was happening, but you would only be fooling yourself. And you can't see past its lies and deception, you can only see what's right in front of you. Illusions change your life into something it's not, and soon it's completely unrecognizable. Life is the great illusionist, changing the world as it sees fit.

The only problem, as Mark had learned over and over again, is that once the illusion shatters you're left with nothing at all.

0--0

It's been six years since Angel died. You have the best timing in the world, riding up in the parking lot the same moment that she slipped away from Collins. You were there to comfort him first, and what a job that was. For the first few minutes he was quiet, shocked, but then he began to laugh. You didn't quite understand it then, and you could never understand it now without seeing the moment from behind the lens.

Five years since Maureen gave birth to your daughter. Molly, the most wonderful and energetic thing you've ever seen, will have her birthday in a few months. You love her, you really do, but in a way she isn't yours and never will be. She clings to Joanne likes she should cling to you, but you don't mind it. You would never make a good father anyway.

Maureen has always been notoriously late, whether she's meeting her friends at the Life, or you at the graveyard, or giving birth. It's like she has some natural opposition to being on time.

Collin's grave is next to Angel's. As soon as he began to hit the critical point, you all pitched in to buy the empty plot next to her. But he held on for quite a while, much longer than Mimi, who'd died the week after Molly's second birthday.

Mimi and Roger had grown closer in the wake of Angel's death, something having to do with Roger not wanting to let her grow too far from him. You hadn't heard but the gist of the conversation through the walls, and all you remember is Roger mentioning a dream…an illusion, as he put it.

But she couldn't keep herself alive, not even for Roger, and after a while she stopped going to rehab and started stripping again, the job she'd quit in Angel's memory. The problem was that her best friend wasn't around to cheer her on anymore, and none of you could do it quite like Angel.

That's what Collins said, at least. His last three days were painful with few words, but while he was still coherent you had a conversation. He seemed better, seemed normal, but a few hours later he was all but dead and drugged up. When he died things began to fade, because it was just you, Roger, Maureen, Joanne, and Molly, of course. At three years old, she loved her Uncle Collins even more than she loved her Aunt Mimi (and oh how she loved Mimi), and you had never seen that much sorrow in someone's eyes.

Roger, resilient and stubborn, was the last to go. Sometimes he spent the whole night coughing and convulsing for air, but he refused to admit that he was getting worse. It got to the point that he couldn't leave his bed because if he did he fell to the ground, coughing. So you made sure he was warm and toasty each night, and that he had all that he needed, and wondered when you had so fully committed yourself to your friends.

Joanne had Maureen. Maureen had Molly. Molly had them both.

You had Roger, just Roger now, because you would never make a good addition to their happy family.

But then you didn't have Roger, and it was all because of a crack in the window and a little cold weather.

You hated the cold.

0--0

Molly had five roses in her hand. They were smashed from a child's grasp, but who would really care? Wear and tear shows love, just like the old stuffed dog that Collins had spent his last three dollars on as a birthday present. Angel, she named it, because she had heard so many good things about her Auntie Angel, and how much Uncle Collins loved her, and she wanted to remember it all by.

Maureen trailed behind Joanne and Molly, her eyes focused on the two before her. Molly was gorgeous, with her blonde curls and pretty hazel eyes. Maureen had wondered how well Joanne would deal with the baby, and boy was she surprised. Joanne had committed to Molly, and Molly was so smitten with Joanne that some times Maureen couldn't believe that she was the one that gave birth.

Mark's smiling, and waves to Molly. She lets out a squeal and runs for him. She knows him as Daddy Mark. There's Mommy Maureen, Mommy Joanne, and Daddy Mark—just to even it all out. Dysfunctional, maybe, but they sure are happy.

She's somber as she lays a rose on Auntie Angel's grave, then Auntie Mimi, then Uncle Collins, and then Uncle Roger. And then, with a kiss, she puts the last rose on the grave of Uncle Benny. He had, after Allison kicked him out because of his infidelity and disease, come crawling back to his former friends. He didn't have ownership of Mark's building anymore, but he still had a bank account. He handed Maureen a check, all the money that Molly would need to go to college, and they didn't see him again until the third funeral. He was shaky and quite the wreck without Allison, and told them that he was moving away to be somewhere warmer. But within the year he was back, this time in a casket, having requested burial in the same place as all of his friends.

"So, uh, are you three coming to the café with me? I'm going for lunch."

"I have to work," Joanne says, shaking her head. "Some jerk decided to blackmail his boss, and I don't have any free time because of it."

"Well I'd love to come!" Maureen exclaims. "Molly? How'd you like to go to lunch with Daddy Mark and me?"

"To the Life Café?" she asks, excited. She'd heard many great stories about the old hangout.

"Where else?"

Joanne gives them both a quick kiss and Mark a small hug. "I'll see you two later," she winks, and walks in the direction of the subway.

0--0

"This is where you all used to come to eat, right? You three, and Auntie Angel, Auntie Mimi, Uncle Collins, and Uncle Roger? And Uncle Benny too, right?"

"Sometimes," Mark nods. He has one of her hands while Maureen has the other. He isn't carrying his camera.

"Did we ever tell you how we all met?" Maureen asks, looking down at her daughter.

Molly shakes her head.

"Well, it was Christmas Eve," Mark begins, "and it all started when Uncle Benny wanted us to pay our rent…"

0FIN0

The end.

The closing.

The finish.

The conclusion.

The last line gives me chills.

Aren't you proud of me? I finished a multi-chaptered story! That's only ever happened one other time, and it kind of died after the sequel…but that doesn't matter. Illusions is over!! It seemed right to me to end it with Mark looking back. Like he'd carefully stored all those memories away until the end of them came along. And then he replayed them, just like he was making a movie.

Thanks for sticking around so long! I can't express how thankful I am for all of you!

And now here is my thank you list. I've put it in the form of movie credits because I'm anxious, and kind of bored, and it seems like a fun idea.

0--0

Writer: _Manyissues101Ali_

Beta: _Ginger Glinda the Tangerine_

**Dedicated to: **Wafer, the happiest puppy that ever lived. May you rest in peace. 04/10/08 – 09/10/08

Thanks to:

_The Coca-Cola company. Vault saves my muse._

_Ramen manufacturers_

_Cheesy Garlic Bread_

_Squaresoft/Square Enix. Your games took a large portion of my life away, but parts inspired me._

_Anna Nalick_

_Alfred Hunshanks III (my computer)_

_Jonathan Larson_

_Ginger Glinda the Tangerine_

_Everyone who's ever reviewed, favorited, alerted, etc. _

_The people who looked over this last chapter_

_Y O U!!_

0--0


End file.
